


Voices

by disposableteen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abusive Parents, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Modern Setting, Physical Abuse, Soulmate AU, some comfort atleast
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-28 21:36:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13280337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disposableteen/pseuds/disposableteen
Summary: In a universe where a few, lucky people get to hear small snippets of a soulmate's thoughts, Remus hears some not so lucky things.





	Voices

**Author's Note:**

> I was thinking about doing some sort of soulmate au and this just happened. I really, really hope this will prove to only be a teaser for a full on chaptered fic, but who knows what my head will conjure up next time.

**Get out of my life**

 

No matter how many times he’s heard that specific tone, it always made him flinch. The voice is ice cold and flaming fury all at the same time, with no trace of doubt or remorse. Whoever his soulmate is thinking of they truly hate them. Remus hadn’t considered the possibility of hating someone like that, as if just the thought of them made you furious, until he heard the evidence of it. He doesn’t remember when he first heard it, but it must be two or three years ago at least, and at first he had worried over what kind of person his soulmate is if their inner voice can be so  _ terrifying.  _ But after time he’d gotten more glimpses of this hated person, and has started worrying about other things instead. Such as if it’s possible to call social services for someone he doesn’t even know.

 

**I hate you**

 

Remus sighs and places a finger on the section he’s at and looks up. The voice is a dramatic contrast to the idyllic scene around him. The park really is lovely, even he can’t deny that. He’s never been much of a nature person, but this place is quite alright. The row of suburban houses end abruptly at the edge of the park, and the first thing you notice is the small lake with the large flock of birds always on the lookout for breadcrumbs or seeds. Or ice cream, for that matter. There are small paths winding through sparse trees, with wild bushes and flowers giving a few benches some privacy from the large playground. 

If he has to be outside, he prefers to be here. The tree is shaped perfectly to lean back against, a nice distance from the popular playground and the noisy children playing there, but still close enough that it doesn’t feel deserted. 

 

**Unfair**

 

A deep ache settles in his chest. He’s caught enough snippets of his soulmate’s inner turmoil that he worries about what might come next. The first time he heard it, and what followed, he thought it must be because of a bully. There’s technically no way of knowing your soulmate’s age, they could be a lot older than him for all he knows. But it  _ felt  _ young. The voice would so often get excited, thoughts suddenly appearing after days of silence, sentences only getting half finished before jumping onto the next. Sometimes seemingly about a friend, about a sport, or some bizarre bit of fact. It sounded like the voice of someone full of life. Which made the sudden coldness even more of a shock. And it kept returning, at different times, and Remus was forced to come to the conclusion that it couldn’t be a mere bully. 

 

**Stop**

 

**Stop**

 

**Stop**

 

**Hurts**

 

**Stop**

 

Remus’ grip on his book tightens and he looks to the branches above him. How is it possible to ache for someone he doesn’t even know? There isn’t some instant connection between him and his soulmate, no matter how hard romantics on the internet tried to make him think so. He’s curious about this person, about who wherever soulmate connections come from thought to match him with. At times he enjoys the voice. Quite often, if he’s being honest. But he doesn’t  _ know  _ them. All he knows is gathered from the snippets he gets to hear every now and then. And yet. And yet here he is, heart hammering in his chest and worry tightly coiled around his limbs.

 

**Please**

 

He swallows dryly. The voice isn’t ice cold and burning anymore. It’s strained and desperate, in a way it so rarely gets. And that says so much more than that single word. 

Remus shuts his book a bit more aggressively than intended, and nearly gets his fingers caught in between the pages. He wishes he could do something. He wishes he had a name, an address. And if possible, the bravery to walk in and stop the abuse that’s taking place in his soulmate’s life. No matter who they are, they don’t deserve what’s being done to them. But he can’t help. He doesn’t even have a gender to go on, or a location. They could be all the way across the world, even though that has been proven unusual. 

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes to focus on the calmness around him. The distant sounds of children playing. The rustle of leaves above him. Squawking birds competing for the food tossed for them. The sunlight filtering through the leaves and warming his skin.

Researches have been done on whether or not it is possible to choose what thoughts your soulmate gets to hear, lots of research he’d realised as he got to scroll through several pages of google hits, but so far nothing conclusive has been proven. Which basically means “Fuck if we know”, complete with a big shrug. But he tries anyway. If not because it may or may not work, then because there’s nothing else he can do.

  
  


**

  
  


When Sirius is finally left alone, slumped down in a heap on the floor, he slowly pulls himself up and drags his aching limbs up the stairs. He knew it would be bad, had stayed away over the night and only returned when the house should be empty. But when he came home and saw his mother waiting for him his heart dropped. 

They had yelled, as they always do. He has never heard either his mother or father yell like at anyone other than him, and sometimes he’s able to turn that fact into a source of pride. But not now. Bruises are forming over is ribs and thighs (never his face or arms, never somewhere visible), and it feels as if they go deep into his bones. 

It was worth it, it always is, even when his mother pulls out the thin cane that used to belong to this and this relative. 

The sun has the audacity to shine merrily in through the bathroom mirror as he inspects the wounds. He’s had worse, but not by much. There’s a salve that soothes, and he hisses as he gingerly rubs it into the skin that’s turning different shades of red, blue and yellow.

And as Sirius slips into his bed, groaning and trying to find a position that doesn’t put pressure on anything sore, just as he feels so alone and empty inside, the calm voice speaks up inside him.

 

_ I care  _

 

How is it possible to feel such gratitude towards someone you don’t even know?

 


End file.
